John Doe
by Lolo84
Summary: He scrunches up his nose. "You know, you seemed to like me more when you thought I was dying." I gasp, shocked and embarrassed. "I didn't think you were dying." He's smiling. Like a big toothy smile. Ugh! I can already tell he likes to mess with people. "No, but you sure thought I was in a coma and had amnesia." Dammit! He had me there. BPOV. AH. No Angst. (Hiatus)
1. Chapter 1

**All right peeps! This one's just gonna be a fun and fluffy ride 'cause I need a break from all the angst I've been reading and writing. Really it's damn near suffocating sometimes, ya know!**

**Thank you so much to the ladies joining me for this one. My boo Twiddler83, My Beta AJasper ForMe, and Vancouver-Canuck-Girl who's just awesome and hilarious and I'm hoping her and Twiddler's humor will rub off on me! :-D**

**So hope you like it! I'll see ya at the bottom!**

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**~1~**

Every weekend.

I've been coming here every single weekend for almost two years. By 'here', I mean the hospital. _Ethan Asia* Community Hospital_ to be exact. And no I'm not making that shit up. We even have a doctor that works here whose real name is Kevin Yorkian*. Poor guy. He goes by just Dr. Yorkie now; or Eric, which is his middle name.

Anyway, coming here on the weekends started off as a requirement for a humanities class my freshman year of college. On second thought, it might have been Psychology and Sociology. Regardless, part of the class curriculum was to volunteer for four weekends out of the semester. I'll admit, I was a little put out at first, having to give up a few weekends—I may have even tried to drop the class—but what started out as an obligation quickly turned into a hobby.

So, though I still get _some_ volunteer credit towards my major—Social Work—I still come on the weekends to help out as a candy striper.

Some people hate that name. They think it's sexist and prefer to be called '_volunteers'_ instead. Or better yet, 'Patient Care Liaisons'. _Ha!_I only had one person ever balk at me for calling her a candy striper. The conversation ended with me telling her to get the fuck over herself. I really can't stand when people take themselves too seriously, you know? It doesn't matter what they call us. Candy stripers or volunteers; we do the same shit.

Deliver flowers.

Deliver food.

Visit patients.

Run errands.

Talk shit with the nurses who actually give us the time of day.

I doubt this weekend will be any different and as I'm leaving my house, I look forward to some of the monotony of it all. Mid-terms are upon me and my professors have been riding my ass. Hard. Without lube.

But the minute I get to the hospital, it all goes out the window and I'm already pissed.

I forgot some of the clubs at my school also required community service hours. A handful of them do it here.

_Great!_I already see a few girls I know don't like me just because I didn't want to join their stupid club. They said I thought I was too good for them. Well, they were right in a sense.

It's not that I've ever thought I was too good for anyone, but I am too good for the shit they get themselves into. So forgive me if I chose not to be labeled as part of the crew that's known as the school sluts. I'm not kidding. The name of their group is called 'The Ladies of Twilight' or some shit, but everyone calls them 'Ladies of the Night'.

Yeah, no thank you.

"Bella," one of the nurses, Angela, calls me in a stage whisper. She's the nurse that supervises the 'volunteers' on weekends, but she's also one of my best, and only, friends.

I look around and notice she's poking her head around a wall. She gives me a look that tells me it's serious—like she has a secret, so my interest is immediately piqued.

We aren't big gossipers but when something's good, we can't help it.

I wink.

She nods.

Five minutes later, we meet in a room of one of the coma patients. It's wrong, we know this, but I never said we were ethical. Ethics! That's the class that required the volunteer hours. I was close.

"What's up, Angie?" I ask once we're inside Mr. Banner's room. He's been here since before I started. It's mean to say, but he's never waking up.

It's sad, because no one ever visits him. Sometimes my only job, or assignment, is to sit and talk to him. They say it helps. I don't buy it for shit, but I play along. I read to him. I sing to him. Sometimes I bitch to him.

There's not much to do on this floor. It's kind of a throw away floor, like that random drawer in the kitchen, so everyone always rushes to pediatrics or NICU. They like to play with the babies. While I, more often than not, get stuck with the patients who can't respond. Or don't wake up. Who have no visitors.

I can sense, from the vibe coming off of Angela, that's about to change.

"I have an assignment for you." She smiles.

I wait.

She looks left.

She looks right.

I smack her arm and tell her to go on with it.

"Okay. Your mission—should you choose to accept it—is to watch over a new patient."

My left eyebrow almost disappears into my hairline. "Why are you talking like we're on _A-Team _or something?"

"For starters, it's _Mission Impossible_." She huffs. "Just let me have my fun."

"Fine . . . I accept. What's the new patient's name?"

"I have no idea."

_Umm okay. _"What do you mean?"

"I mean I have no idea. Like I said."

"Okay, so are you going to tell me why this is so important then?" Because right now, she seems a little bit like a whack job; getting excited about a patient whose name she doesn't even know.

"Yes. He's hot and I don't want any of the ra-ra-sis-boom-ba girls to do it."

"That's . . . cheerleading." I snicker. "They're more of like a 'party planning committee.'" I air quote.

"I don't give a fuck. I just don't want them watching over him. Trust me, you'll thank me later."

"If you say so." I laugh, trying to examine her eyes.

She swats my hands away. "I'm not high. Jeez. Now let's go to the meeting. I have a few hearts to crush." With an evil, yet smug, smile she saunters off.

I'm still confused.

I follow behind her and crowd around the nurses' station with the four other girls that are there.

"Okay, listen up!" Angela shouts, glaring a little at the chatty trio. We all give her our undivided attention as she lists off our assignments, meaning the departments we'll be helping in today. "Lauren," she begins. "Peds. Tanya—peds." They high-five each other.

I roll my eyes. I'm a little annoyed because I rarely, if ever, get to be with the babies. But Angela smirks. I still don't understand what she's up to.

"Leah. You'll be floating between Occ health and the Sports Medicine department."

She nods in appreciation. She looks like a linebacker, so she'll fit right in.

"Jessica—gift shop."

"Bella, room 402. You'll be sitting with John Doe."

Lauren and Tanya snicker while Leah and Jessica couldn't care less. When they scurry off to their departments, almost floating on clouds of smugness, I stomp off to room 402.

I expect some old man or woman; or at the very least, some crazy looking patient. Even maybe someone hopped-up on drugs. I don't mean to be judgmental, but it's not everyday someone comes in with no identity.

When I walk in the room, I gasp. I'm frozen. My mouth is gaping. I feel like a creeper.

I don't give a shit, though, 'cause Mr. John Doe is the sexiest thing I've ever seen.

He has some scrapes and bruises over his face but I can still tell. A woman knows these things after all. When a man is hot, even if we can't see his entire face clearly, we know—our bodies know. Our hearts speed up. Our pussies quiver. Our ovaries swoon. It's our built-in hot-dar. You know, our radar that alerts us to the hotness. It's a real word, look it up.

I feel a presence behind me, and I know it's Angela, so I don't turn around.

I'm too busy being a creeper and eye-fucking this patient that—with the way he's lying so still—almost looks dead. I'm not into necrophilia, though. I swear. At least I don't think I am. The thoughts running through my mind make me wonder. I file that thought away to discuss with my pseudo-therapist later. Meaning Angela.

I feel her poke me in the shoulder.

I could almost feel the 'I told you so' coming.

When I turn to look at her, I know I'm right. "You owe me," she whispers.

"Ang, who is this?" I ask, taking a look at his chart. I don't know what I'm looking for but it seems an appropriate thing to do.

"I told you. Right now he's considered 'John Doe.'"

"Okay, well, what happened to him?" I check his machines and IV bags and such. Again . . . I don't know what the fuck I'm looking for, but it seems appropriate.

"He got pretty banged up in an accident. Got sent here this morning from the third floor." I cringe. The third floor is more of a black hole than the sixth.

"Is he in a coma?" I look down sadly at the gorgeous man, wondering how wrong it would be to cop a feel.

Wrong. Very wrong.

"They were pretty vague. I guess he's in some sort of unconscious state but that's about all they offered me.

"Wow. The doctors here are pretty thorough, huh," I quip sarcastically.

I shouldn't be surprised. And I'm not. Our doctors . . . lets just say, are not the best in the state, country, or city.

But I'm pissed.

I'm pissed for this guy; this sexy guy who doesn't know it yet but is going to be my future husband.

* * *

_*Some people pronounce 'Euthanasia' like 'Ethan Asia' and in trying to think of an ironic name for a Hospital; that's what popped in my head- which of course inspired 'Kevin Yorkian'. For those who aren't from the U.S., the name might not make sense. But remember Dr. Kevorkian?" Yeah … smh! I would hate to have that name in the medical profession._*

**So what did you guys think? :-)**

**Like I said, fun and fluffy stuff ahead! I doubt there will be ANY drama or angst. The title's subject to change 'cause ya'll know I'm impatient and couldn't wait to get this out to you guys! **

**Leave me your thoughts, please!**

**Until Next Time**

**~Lo**

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**A/N ADDED ON 1/26/13 I REMOVED EVERYTHING BUT THE FIRST CHAPTER OF THIS STORY UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE! I WILL EITHER RE-ADD 2-9 WHEN FICS AREN'T BEING PULLED AGAIN, OR CONTINUE TO POST ON TWCS, OR MY WORDPRESS BLOG! PLEASE PUT IT, OR ME ON AUTHOR ALERT FOR UPDATES ON ALL MY FICS! SORRY FOR THE INCONVENIENCE BUT I'D RATHER TAKE THIS PRECAUTION INSTEAD OF HAVING THE RUG PULLED UNDERNEATH ME-I HOPE YOU UNDERSTAND! :-D**


	2. Chapter 2

**Sorry for any confusion/delay for those not on my FB; twitter; or haven't read my FFn profile! I pulled to re-post everything to fit with FFn's M rating! They like pulling fics now! I'm not with it! You'll find unedited versions on TWCS :-)**

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**~2.~**

I'm standing alone, and at the foot of the bed, staring at sexy semi-coma guy—also known as the future father of my children—wondering how I could legally and ethically give him a sponge bath of some sort.

Angela has long since left, after explaining why she doesn't trust any of the other girls with him.

Not only are they imbeciles but there's a chance they would molest him in his sleep. Take pictures of him and send it through Facebook or Twitter or something. Maybe even try and convince him, when he wakes up, that they're his wife or girlfriend.

I don't do much of social media, but I can't say option one or three didn't cross my mind. Only difference is I know better than to act on it.

I'm only here for two hours today, so I decide for those two hours that I'm going to talk to him.  
I don't know what about but they say it helps, right?

And I need him to wake up. Because it will be beyond wrong to fantasize about him while he's technically in a coma.

So I start, "Hi . . ." I trail off, not knowing what to call him. "Umm . . . My name is Bella."

And if I didn't know any better, I would say I saw a small smile playing on his lips.

I end up talking to him about anything and everything. I tell him about my childhood, my crazy parents, who I miss everyday, but are off globetrotting. I tell him about the absurd apartment I live in. I complain and tell him it's too big for me and I'm lonely in it. It's also way too expensive, but it has a doorman. That fact alone was enough to sell my dad on it.

Then running out of stories to share about my parents, I tell him about when Angela and I went out a few weekends ago.

"So, she had just broken up with her boyfriend Felix. The guy was a complete jackass and I was more then happy to see him go. Don't tell her I told you that, though," I whisper the last part as if he can hear me. "Anyway, we decide, against my better judgment mind you, to go to a club downtown. I'm not even old enough to get in this specific club, but Angela knew the bouncer so he let it slide. It helped that we had these ridiculously stripperish outfits on. I'm sure we looked absurd.

"So yeah, the goal for the night was simple, get plastered and forget about Felix for a night. Except, what do you know? He shows up there. The bouncer she knew was a friend of his, so he called him and told him 'his girl' was there." I scoff.

"What an ass, right? Who does he think he is having spies on her? But Angela, determined not to let him see he's got the best of her, starts making out with some random guy. Next thing I know, Felix is all up in the guy's face telling him to get away from his girl." I'm already snickering thinking about what happens next. "Then, then, the girl he came with—the one he had been cheating on Angela with—comes out of no where and is all 'your girl?' 'your girl?', screeching like a banshee and starts beating the shit out of Felix, which, trust me, would be funny if you saw his size versus hers."

I'm laughing now, barely holding it in. "That's not the best part. The girl decides to turn on Angela but then I intervene. She's my friend so of course I have to have her back, you know. I push her, she pushes me, and then we start fighting. I'm not into the girly fighting, but when she pulls my hair, I instinctively pull hers. Only it comes right off!" I'm guffawing now, slapping my knee and everything, as tears stream down my face.

"Wearing a wig isn't a big deal, right? Only once I've snatched up the wig, her voice drops like three octaves! Yes! Yes! Turns out Jane, or whatever, was really born James, and Felix had unknowingly been cheating on Angela with a dude! If that's not justice, I don't know what is!"

I'm hunched over, holding my stomach and I can barely breathe from laughing so hard.

But when I notice his shoulders shaking, I sober up. I feel bad I wasn't paying attention and immediately get up and get him extra blankets. The room does tend to get drafty. After a few more minutes of catching my breath and making sure he's snuggled in, I decide to call it a day.

When I get home, I can't get Hot Coma Dude out of my head.

I can't imagine being in a hospital.

Alone.

But then again, he doesn't realize he's in a hospital—alone. So I guess it's a moot point anyway.  
I feed my cat. TomCat. Named after Tom of 'Tom and Jerry'.

So typical, right? The lonely chick, with no man, who lives alone, has a cat.

Only it's not really my cat. It's my mom's and I watch it when she travels with my dad.

I hate him.

The cat, not my dad—my dad's pretty awesome actually. My mom is too of course. Otherwise I wouldn't ever put up with her evil beast of a pet.

He's the devil and scratches the shit out of me on a weekly basis. I also think he had something to do with the untimely death of his brother Bobcat (who actually looked like a fat bobcat) but no one believes me.

I wish I was evil like it. I would've killed that fucker a long time ago. But then that wouldn't just make me evil but a psycho and a potential sociopath, as well. I really need to consider talking to someone about my issues. First, the desire to feel up a coma patient and now to slaughter a cat with my bare hands—this can't be normal. I'm pretty sure this is beyond Angela's realm as my part time psychiatrist.

I sigh, watching as Tomcat devours his food, and try to decide what take-out I want to order in.  
I can very easily cook, of course, but it's just me so there's no fun in that. Plus I'm being a lazy fuck and don't feel like it.

I end up ordering Thai and accompany my lunch with some vodka. Yes, it's only the middle of the day but whatever. Don't judge me. I want to nap. I want the day to go by quickly. The quicker it goes by the quicker tomorrow comes.

Then I get to see Hot Coma Man again.

* * *

**I give full and total credit to VC-Girl for Bobcat ;-)**

**~Lo**


	3. Chapter 3

**~3.~**

When I wake up the next morning, I don't feel so good because the Thai food is no bueno with my system.

I'll spare you the details and refrain from elaborating more than that 'cause it's not pleasant. Just know at one point, to get through, I had to pretend I was a queen on a porcelain throne and I was the master of all I surveyed. Then, when that didn't work, I pretended I was going into labor, and my coma boo was cheering me on. What did I say about not judging me? Let's not pretend we haven't all had weird thoughts run through our minds at one point or another.

Anyway, despite the rough start to my morning, I'm surprisingly not tremendously late to arrive at the hospital. Even though I know Ang won't care, I send her a quick text and let her know I had some things to take care of and was running behind. When I get there, I spend almost 10 minutes looking for her, but can't find her anywhere.

With a huff of annoyance, I decide to abandon my search for her and make my way to room 402 when I see Tanya making a bee line for me.

I don't know what she wants but I'm not in the mood. I clench my fist ready to knock a bitch out.

"Bella." She smiles.

It's fake as fuck and she doesn't realize I can see right through it. I don't smile back, and answer her with a short, "Yeah?"

"Angela told me to tell you you're with the baby cuddlers today."

I'm almost happy. Then I remember Mr. Hot Coma Guy, who I've dubbed—in my mind—as Mr. C. Angela made it clear she doesn't want any of the harpies near him.

"And where will you be?" I ask, pretending to play along.

"Oh, you know, just helping around here on this floor."

"Thanks." I smile. It's as fake as she is and it's clear she thinks she's one upped me, until I add, "Let me just make sure to check with her on that first and let her know I'm here."

The smile is gone now; hers not mine. She glares at me and turns to stomp off. Only she miscalculates how close she is to the wall and walks right into it, bouncing back like a contestant on that show where all they seem to do is get smacked around by large objects and thrown off of stuff.

It's the funniest thing I've seen in a long time and I find it hard not to point and laugh. So hard, in fact, that's exactly what I end up doing—pointing and laughing. On a regular day, I find things like people falling hilarious, and that's even with people I like, including myself. So yeah, after her clear attempt at thinking she was going to steal Mr. C from under me, I'm hoping she broke her damn nose.

When I get to his room, I stop when I notice something's off. I can't place it, but I know one thing: it smells like cheap perfume, Tanya's cheap perfume to be exact.

_Ick! _The windows in the hospital don't open, so I immediately rush to one of the supply closets in the main hall and find a portable fan.

"Sorry about that," I tell Mr. C when I get back into his room. Of course I get no response, but that doesn't deter me from talking to myself, so I continue. "I hope you can't smell that shit, 'cause ... damn." I wave a hand in front of my face, trying to manually fan away the smell.

"So, anyway, I don't know if I can stay as long as I had hoped," I say solemnly, my stomach rumbling a little. "I had some bad Thai food last night and well . . . you don't need to hear all the gory details," I whisper, then cock my head to the side. "I wonder if you can really hear me. I would love to know your name. I mean, I can't keep calling you Mr. C. That's short for Mr. Coma, if you're wondering." I snort then shake my head. "That's the worse nickname ever, huh? Well, I couldn't decide on hot coma guy, or man, or dude. And either way, it's all a mouthful. So I shortened it. When you wake up, and you _will_wake up, I'll give you a better one."

Making myself comfortable, I proceed with our one-sided conversation. "I read some more of your chart by the way. I don't know if I'm allowed to do that, but you're not mad, right?

"Well, anyway, it says you're about 6'2". 180 lbs with good muscle mass. I have no clue what muscle mass means, but I guess it means you work out?"

The rest of the day goes about the same.

I talk shit, he doesn't answer.

Each of the girls comes in at least once, asking if I need help with anything. I hiss at them like a cat ready to strike. Something I picked up from Tomcat. It makes me come off looking insane, but I don't give a shit because at least they don't come back after that.

I don't stay as long as I had hoped because . . . well the Thai food is winning the war against my intestines.

When it's time to leave, I'm sad him but I can't explain why. Lingering, I do something innocent but very inappropriate. I give him a kiss on his forehead. I can't help it. If someone walked in while I was doing that, I would've had to claim temporary insanity.

"I'll be back," I whisper against his forehead. "I know this is wrong to say, but I hope you're still here."

* * *

The week drags ass.

Normally I'm swamped with work—especially with exams coming up—and I hate it.

But this week, the only week I would've craved the distractions, they go easy on us. With spring break immediately preceding mid-terms, it's pretty clear the professors are mentally checking out on us.

When Saturday morning comes, I'm up bright and early because I have an imaginary date with Mr. C.

It's pathetic, I know, but whatever.

I decide to dress in simple jeans and a t-shirt instead of scrubs, knowing Angela doesn't mind.

On my way, I grab a 'big breakfast with hot cakes', with plans on eating it at the hospital.

When I get there, the vibe is weird.

I can't find Angela but I go straight to Mr. C's, and I let out a relieved breath when I realize he's still there. I also see he's been moved a little. And looks cleaner.

"Hey, Mr. C!" I say with a smile. "Looks like they got you in a shower. That's good!" As usual, he doesn't answer. "Well, I brought breakfast, hope you don't mind."

I go about setting up my food while looking out the window and of course, talking to myself. When I sit down to eat and turn around to face him, a scream rips from somewhere deep within me.

Mr. C is sitting up and his eyes are open.

Angela rushes in, holding some contraption in her hand. "What? What happened?" She's panicked and poised to strike. Although, I don't get what damage she thinks she would have been able to do if I was really under attack or some shit.

Once I catch my breath, all I could do is point to Mr. C.

Angela looks annoyed with me for the false alarm. "Jesus Christ! I thought you were being murdered or something. Don't ever scare me like that again."

"Sorry, Ang." I snicker once I realize what she's holding. "I would hate for you to have to use that lethal feather duster you got there."

My shoulder shakes with silent laughter as she flips me off, then motions with her head to follow her.

Mr. C doesn't say anything but I see him shaking his head and hear a soft chuckle at our antics.

I mutter a soft, "I'll be right back" to him. The minute we are out of the room I grip Angela's arm so tight I worry I might leave a bruise. "Angela what the fuck?"

"What the fuck me? No what the fuck, you! What are you doing here so early?" She crosses her arms and quirks an eyebrow at me.

"I wanted to get it out of the way. I . . . umm . . . have laundry and stuff to do," I mumble.

"Laundry. Riiiggghtt. Surre."

"Yeah, yeah so anyway, how come you didn't tell me Mr. Hot Coma guy woke up?"

"Because you slipped in before I even saw you. Anxious much?"

"Whatever, just give me the update."

"Ok . . . well obviously he's woken up, but I guess he has some sort of amnesia."

"That's it?"

"The chart didn't say much." She shrugged.

"How are we still open?" I question.

It's valid.

Our doctors are flakes.

I'm surprised more patients don't die or there aren't more malpractice lawsuits. After a minor argument, which consists of me trying to make a run for it, and Angela pinning me against the wall, I agree to go back and check on Mr. C.

Not surprisingly, Tanya, Lauren, and Jessica are there.

They're crowded around his bed and I'm immediately annoyed.

"Back the fuck off." I don't know where it comes from, but I look at Angela in surprise. "Should I call each of your department heads and inform them you're here lollygagging around?" It's rare the bitch side of her comes out so I am shocked. I'm also taken off guard 'cause she said the word 'lollygagging'. I don't think I've ever heard someone say that in real life.

Thankfully, they don't argue and they scurry off, but not before sending flirtatious looks to Mr.C.  
I glare at them.

"Sorry about that," Angela whispers to him, going back to 'nurse mode' and checks his vitals and IV. She actually knows what she's doing and looking for, unlike me.

He doesn't say anything. Just nods in appreciation.

When she leaves, we stay silent, staring at each other. I don't know what to do or say. Sure it was easy to talk to him when he couldn't understand or respond, but now I feel like my throat is constricting. I'm not that stellar with social skills around the male species and it doesn't help that I truly and finally get a good look at him.

Over the week while I was gone, his cuts and bruises have healed and he's fucking gorgeous.

Yes, I established that before but that was thanks to my hot-dar. Now I'm seeing him it with my own eyes.

He nods towards my breakfast that's been sitting there all but forgotten after he scared the living shit out of me, but I shake my head. I'm not hungry anymore.

How can I eat when I can barely breathe?

"I-I should probably go," I stammer out—the embarrassment of screaming at the sight of him as if he was a villain in a horror movie, creeping in.

I rush to gather up my things and head for the door when his voice stops me dead in my tracks.

It's not just his voice but what he says.

My heart tries to beat out of my chest.

My face pales.

I can't move my feet.

He does that to me with just two simple words.

"Bella, wait."


	4. Chapter 4

**~ 4.~**

"Bella, wait."

I whirl around, confused, and try to get a better look at him. I know for sure we don't know each other because I would definitely remember seeing that face somewhere. And even if he did know me, he has amnesia. He shouldn't be able to remember it anyway.

I take a glance down at what I'm wearing. I'm not in my scrubs, so I don't have my name tag on. I also know for a fact I did not tell him my name nor did Angela say it. There's a good chance one of the other girls told him, but I'm too on edge to consider that at the moment.

I cross my arms over my chest and narrow my eyes.

"How did you know my name?" My tone is harsh, but I don't care. Something's not adding up.

"You told me your name?" It comes out like a question and he looks as confused as I feel.

"I didn't tell you my name," I state.

"You were in my room. Talking to me. You told me your name."

I gasp. I'm pissed and embarrassed. I know what that means. "You were awake this whole time?"

"Define awake." He's almost cocky.

I want to smack the smirk right off his face. "It's not the time to be a smart ass. Mister . . . whatever the fuck your name is."

"Wow! It's not Mr. Hot Coma guy anymore?"

I die.

This is the most mortifying moment in my life.

Deciding I've had enough, I turn to leave again. I can't let him see me cry. Even if they are angry tears.

"Bella. Wait. I'm sorry, please don't leave." His voice is sad. Remorseful even, but I don't care.

I'm dying of embarrassment and not even two seconds ago, he was taking way too much pleasure in it. "Stop saying my name, asshole. You were pretending to be in a coma when you heard me say it. You don't get to address me as such right now."

"I wasn't pretending and I wasn't in a fucking coma," he snaps. He has some nerve. He's not turning this around on me.

"Is that so? Then why didn't you say anything this whole time." I demand, very much frustrated.

"I thought I was dreaming." Is his reply. If it's a pick up line, I won't bite. Well, not really.

"Dreaming?" I scoff. "How does that even make sense?"

"When you're hopped up on as much many pain meds as they've given me since I got here, trust me, it's hard to decipher what's really happening or not."

I don't have a comeback. He's right. I was on some strong pain meds last year when they removed my wisdom teeth. Damn near forgot my own name a few times. I sit down and motion for him to continue.

"I really don't remember much before you talking to me. In the hospital that is. I know I kept coming in and out and I wasn't sure where I was or what was going on. I didn't recognize your voice but it was so soothing I didn't dare question it."

"I'm listening." I urge him to continue, trying to keep up the façade of being angry. He had me at 'I thought I was a dreaming' mostly 'cause he didn't say nightmare, but I needed answers.

"So yeah, the days and hours ran together. But I remember most of what you said to me."

I groan. I can't even remember everything I said to him.

"Hey," I hear him whisper. "I didn't mean to embarrass you. It was . . . nice hearing someone just let go and talk. I'm not used to people other than my family being so free with me. Even if I thought it was a dream."

"Wait a minute." I hold my hand up to stop him. "You just said your family is free with you?"

"Yeah?" He asks, not seeing my point.

"I thought you had amnesia or whatever."

"The doctors here are idiots."

I don't argue. I can't but I still want explanations. They sure seem to be messing up a lot with this guy.

"I agree but what does that have to do with you not having amnesia?"

"Simple. When I came to from my drug induced haze —on Monday I believe, or maybe it was Sunday, I'm not sure—they asked me if I remembered what happened. I told them no because it's the truth, I don't remember what happened. Just that I obviously was in some sort of an accident. Then they asked if I know knew what day it is was. The answer again was no because how would I know what the date day it was when I wasn't even sure how long I'd been out of it?"

"Makes sense." I agree, feeling my anger and some of embarrassment dissipate. The deepness of his voice definitely helped with that though. Dammit! Snap out of it, Bella! Now is not that the time to get swoony. You need answers. I nod for him to continue.

"So yeah, after that, their next question which was if I knew who the president of the United States was, I had had enough. At that point, I figured they were just insulting my intelligence and I didn't answer. They on their own assumed I didn't know. Then they decided I had amnesia. I happen to know there are dozens of other ways they could have tested this. They chose not to do any of them and it's not my place to tell them how to do there their jobs."

"How do you know all this?"

"My dad and my grandpa are doctors." He shrugged.

"So why haven't you corrected them then? Why not tell them you don't have amnesia and call your parents or whatever?"

"Calling them won't make a difference," he answers sadly.

"Why do you think that?"

"'Cause I'm stuck here anyway."

"You're not stuck here," I say, trying to be encouraging. The sadness of his voice makes me want to climb into bed with him, smush his head against my boobs and rock him back and forth.

"No?" He challenges. "I broke both of my legs. I couldn't walk out of here if I wanted to. I think that's pretty stuck, don't you?"

"Oh. Well when you put it that way."

The silence comes back.

It's uncomfortable and we're both looking everywhere but at each other.

"So, are you hungry?" I finally ask him. It's not poetic but it's something. Anything is better than the awkwardness.

"No." He shakes his head, chuckling. "Whatever drugs they're giving me doesn't make me feel so out of it, but it sure as shit fucks with my stomach."

"Oh, ok." I nod, looking at my food in longing. Now that I'm not as mad, I'm feeling hungry again. But I always feel weird eating by myself in front of people. Not because I'm too shy to eat, let's not get silly now, but because I feel like I'm flaunting my food in their face or something.

"You seemed more comfortable around me when you thought I was dying."

"I didn't think you were dying." I gasp, shocked and a little embarrassed again at being called out.

"No, but you sure thought I was in a coma and had amnesia." He's smiling. Like a big toothy smile. That fucker, I could tell he likes messing with people and this is so not the time. My nerves are too much of a mess as it is. "You don't have to be nervous around me you know." He continues. "I mean if you did indeed tell me about your bad Thai food experience and that wasn't just a figment of my imagination, I think we're as good as friends."

I die. Again.

Why does he have to remember that? I consider lying and telling him that part was indeed a dream, but I don't bother. I know he won't believe me anyway.

"Hey, how 'bout we try this? Let's start over." He reaches his non-injured hand out for me to shake, struggling a little to sit up.

I rush to his side and place a hand on his shoulder to lean him back but smile and give his hand a squeeze.

"My name is Isabella; Bella for short … and you are?"

"Edward."

My smile widens. "It's nice to meet you, Edward."


	5. Chapter 5

**~5.~**

"So, tell me, Edward. Why are you really letting this amnesia thing ride out? You've been awake since Monday or so give or take. You've had all week so why not say something?" After stuffing the cold eggs, biscuit, and pancakes down my face my mood substantially gets better.

Edward and I had been chatting for the better part of an hour before I realized his not wanting to break free didn't make sense. Maybe he doesn't realize what hospital he's in?

"I have my reasons." He shrugs.

That's it? _That's all I get_? Unacceptable; my nosiness will not allow for vague answers. "Care to share these reasons?" I prod.

Clearly he doesn't care to because he shrugs again and doesn't answer my question; causing an awkward silence to fall upon us. I purse my lips and narrow my eyes at his sudden weirdness. I've done more than enough talking to him with no response to last me a lifetime. Granted he couldn't really answer before, so that doesn't count, but he can now. I don't see the point in wasting my time here if he's not up for a chat so I tell him as such and threaten to leave.

You know it, and I know it. But he doesn't know I'm full of shit and don't plan on going anywhere.

With my threat, I see his eyes take a look of panic and I know I have him right where I want him. I figure maybe my choice in wording is coming out intrusive, making him a little defensive, so I change it up. "Tell me this at least. Have you called your parents and told them you're okay?"

"Uh no . . . My parents, along with my brother, sister, and their other halves, are all on a cruise."

"Oh."

"Yeah, there's not really an easy way to get a hold of them. And even if there was I wouldn't want to call them."

"Why not?" I ask before I can stop myself.I know better than to push the subject of family—well normally—but I just find myself wanting to know everything about good, the bad, and the sexy.

"My mom and my sister are drama queens." He scoffs, but I see the smile tugging at his lips."If they got wind of this, even dead in the middle of whatever ocean they're currently sailing on, I wouldn't put it past them to cause so much problems the captain would be forced to turn the boat around. I wouldn't even be surprised if they threw a life raft over board and paddled all the way home."

I laugh because . . . well it's kinda funny to I know my mom would do the same thing.

"What's so wrong with that? Obviously it's 'cause they love you."

"Yeah, well, I don't want to ruin their vacation. They've planned for this for a while and I wouldn't want to be the reason they have to cut it short. Even if they could. And if they couldn't then it would just fuck up the rest of their time there for no reason. I'll still be here when they get back."

I can't help it—I smile. It might seem mundane to some. Not wanting to call them, but I see it's just a selfless thing about him. He's in the hospital. A death trap of a hospital at that, with broken legs and instead of crying 'woe is me' and wanting them to drop everything to cater to him, he's more concerned about not wanting his families trip to be ruined. I know some would try to push him, 'cause I can just imagine his family is going to lose their shit when they find out, but that's not how I work.

"How long are they gone for?"

I see my question catches him off guard. Clearly he expected me to go the pushing-him-to-call-route. I see his shoulders release some of their tension. "Three weeks," he tells me.

"Three weeks from today?"

"No." He shakes his head. "Three weeks from whenever I got here. So . . . two more weeks, I guess? The last thing I remember is dropping them off at the airport. So I'm assuming my accident happened on the way home." He shrugs again, chuckling and shaking his head as if something's funny.

I love his nonchalance but it also infuriates man could've died and he's all cavalier about it. Instead of spazing at him about it—and coming off like an overdramatic freak— I change the subject away from the actual accident.

"Why didn't you go with them?" I ask again before I could stop myself. "Sorry, I don't mean to pry."

"No worries, Bella." He smiles. Holy! He needs to say my name more often because it does funny things to my cooter. She's been on full alert all morning. I whimper and cross my legs. _Down girl!_

"So then yeah, why didn't you go?"

"I told them it's 'cause I wanted to enjoy some time off at home."

"But the real reason?"

He frowns a little, before he whispers, "Didn't want to be the seventh wheel."

"Say no more," I tell him because I completely understand. Being the third wheel sucks some major ass. Once you start adding more wheels, I'm sure the level of suckiness only increases. I'm not certain to what degree, but I'm sure it's somewhere in the books near the theory of relativity or something. "But, if they're anything like I think they are, you'regonna be in a lotof shit once your mom and sister find out. Especially that you kept it from them."

"True." He hums, but then the look on his face changes. "Just so you know, my family isn't the only reason I didn't want to let them know I remember anything." His voice drops an octave and I find myself moving closer to him.

"No?" I whisper.

"No." He shakes his head. "I was afraid they would move me."

"Why?"

"I couldn't let them. I had to find out. Had to see."

"See what?"I ask, my voice coming out barely over a whisper now. "What did you need to see?" I repeat, finding my body leaning closer and closer asI wait for his reply.

"I had to see that you weren't just a dream," he answers, voice deep and husky; a little breathy even.

I swoon, my ovaries weep, and my pussy jumps for 's the cheesiest yet best pick up line ever.

I lean in a little more, noticing him struggling to sit up a bit. I know I should move to assist him but I can't focus on that since the strain in his good arm is sexy. I could see muscles trying to peek of from under the horrid hospital gown.

I want to lick said muscles, but instead I lick my lips. The action makes him move his gaze from my eyes to my mouth.I do the same when I notice a spot of pink peek out through his partially opened mouth.

Closer. Ever so close.

We're almost there—lips almost touching—until we're interrupted by a high-pitched voice."Hey, Bella!Need help with anything?"

And I know right then and there. I am going to fucking kill a bitch this weekend.


	6. Chapter 6

**~6.~**

"Listen . . ." and Angela and I do, intently, from behind the door, as Edward proceeds to ream Tanya a new one.

'Oh my God,' I mouth to her in response to the sound of his voice. It's low and menacing and to be honest, kinda scares the shit out of me. I'm sure it goes without saying, but I'll say it ... it's also hot as hell.

When Tanya interrupted our almost kiss, I had to grip the side of Edward's bed to keep from lunging at her.

There was no telling how long she might have been listening behind the door, but from the look on her face, I could tell she knew she was interrupting something.

I contemplated pulling her bad weave job out.

Spitting in her face.

Kicking her in the head.

All three at once.

But I didn't do any of that—not for any reason other than not wanting Edward to see my catty side. Some guys found that shit hot, others not so much. I wasn't sure which category he fit into and I didn't want to find out the hard way.

"Are you sure?" she asked sweetly, after I informed her there was absolutely nothing she could possibly help me with. "I mean, you've been here all morning. I wasn't sure if you wanted to switch with me."

I stared at her for a minute, trying to bring to life the whole 'If looks could kill' idiom, but it didn't work. There she stood, unaffected by my glare, and very much alive. Looking back at Edward, I noticed he couldn't care less about her and his gaze was fixated on me.

I wanted to do a 'take that bitch' dance but I didn't. She's a bitch and a whore but still a beautiful girl—even without makeup. So the fact he was blatantly ignoring her was vengeance enough for me. In a quick decision, I figured I would take a minute away from his room and double check that Angela didn't need me to do anything.

It wasn't a test per se, but if Tanya wanted a shot at him, I was going to give it to her. Other than in my mind, I have no claim to him, I reasoned. I didn't want to 'cock block' and all that. Plus, I was eager to see what happened.

"Hurry back, Bella," he said in a deep voice. I shot Tanya a smug look. One that said 'He wants to me hurry back, bitch, don't get too comfortable.'

So, that's what I did. After rudely dragging Angela out of a patient's room under the guise of an emergency, I hurried back to Edward's room while updating her on his status, reminding myself of the fact I needed to mention that to him.

I obviously keep certain things to myself—almost everything in fact—but I can't withhold the medical shit from her since she is the nurse in charge right now.

She could get in trouble if it came out that I knew he didn't have amnesia and was in a sense taking up a bed in the wrong department that could go to someone else. I need to make sure, though, he realized I wasn't going around gossiping.

In any case, she says she will try and talk to him but can only update on what he tells her specifically.

When I got back to the room with Angela in tow, I saw, or rather heard, that Tanya was still in there. The door was no longer open all the way, and even though I couldn't hear her voice too clearly, I heard Edward's.

So, I do what any respectable woman in my position would do.

I eavesdrop.

Leading us to now.

"Oh, and another thing to think about," my ears perk back up at his voice, "Say something else to or about Bella, and I promise you, you'll regret it." Angela almost has to restrain me from barging into the room at hearing that the bitch was talking shit about me. "You don't know who I am or what I can do and trust me you do NOT want to find out."

_That's right, baby, you tell her!  
_  
Well that's what I wanted to say but I don't.

At not being able to hear Tanya's response, Angela and I lean closer to the door—only to almost fall when she opens it angrily, seconds later.

We give ourselves a few minutes, trying to be stealthy, before we walk back into the room. I smile when I see Edward immediately trying to sit up.

He's quiet with Angela, not giving her much to work with. I'm torn at feeling bad he doesn't trust her and wanting to throw confetti 'cause it's clear he trusts me. For whatever reason.

"I gotta go," I tell him sadly a couple hours later. I've stayed way past my shift and 'visiting hours' have long since expired.

"Oh." His whole body sags back into his bed. "Right. You probably need to you know . . . eat and sleep and all that, huh?"

"Unfortunately." Trust me, if I could go without food and liquids at the moment, I definitely would in order to stay with him, but such is life. A girl's gotta eat.

He chuckles. "Will you be here tomorrow?"

"Yeah, I'm here every weekend."

His face gets serious. "Yes, but will I see you tomorrow?"

I realize this is as good as him asking me to visit him. "Absolutely. Umm, do you need me to bring anything for you?"

"No. Just come see me."

I nod, but I already know I'm not going to listen.

On the way home, I stop at a little store near my house. It's one of those stores that literally has everything under the sun. Need a chainsaw? They got it. Diapers? No problem. A brand new space heater, lingerie, or maybe just eggs—they're your guys.

Stocking up on a few items I need, and food for Tomcat, I also buy Edward a few things—things I know people who have long stays at the hospital don't even realize they might like or need. Better feeling soap, _Axe_because just the thought of it mixed with his natural scent . . . yeah. Also, a T-shirt, flannel pants and a robe. Socks, deodorant, a toothbrush and toothpaste because the kind they have in the hospital tastes like a mix between nothing or on a bad day, dishwashing liquid.

When I get home, it's dark inside. With me not being used to getting in so late, there was never a thought to leave a light on. Unsuccessfully balancing the bags in my hand, I trip over a shoe I left in the entryway before I'm able to switch the light on. I catch myself before anything tragic happens. However, the sudden burst of light into the apartment, my barging through the door like a mad woman, and the loud choice words that fall from my lips cause Tomcat to make a sound like, well, a cat ready to strike and with his whole back arched up and a loud hiss, he pounces at the shoe—scratching the shit out of me in the process.

It's a very hairy situation at that point, because though I want to appreciate Tomcat's very first attempt at protecting me—even though it's from a harmless shoe—I don't appreciate being a casualty of war.

"Nice," I mutter when I look down at my leg, as well as all the things I just bought that are now scattered on the floor. Blood gushes out of the scratch as if I've been stabbed. And the only things I bother picking up are what I bought Edward. I can't very well bring him blood stained pajamas.

I quickly take a shower, tending to my war wound, before I return to the entryway to pick up my almost forgotten groceries. I find the possessed cat hissing and trying to claw at my purse that's kind of vibrating on the ground.

"It's just my phone," I tell him softly, hoping to calm the feral animal down. "Hello?"

_"Sweetheart!"_

"Mom!" My heart almost jumps out of my chest at the excitement of hearing her voice. I hadn't talked to her all week, which is very rare for us. We talk a mile a minute as I catch her up on classes and the hospital—choosing to keep Edward a secret, lest she start planning our wedding—and her passing the phone back and forth so my dad can tell me excitedly about the hostels they've stayed at. "When are you coming home?" I finally ask. "I miss you guys."

_"Aww, we miss you too. You can always meet us in . . . hold on, WHERE ARE WE GOING NEXT, CHUCK?"_ I pull the phone away at her calling out to my dad, who I swore was right next to her. I hear him mumble out a few names, and a 'Fucking*' before my mother's voice comes back on the phone. "Austria."

"Thanks, Mom, but that's okay. You and daddy have fun on your excursion."

After a couple 'I love you's' and promises to call me as soon as they can, we hang up. I'm immediately saddened. Growing up, I can't recall a time where my parents—Renee and Charles 'Chuck' Swan— were more than an arms reach of me. Traveling was always our thing, wanting me to experience as much as possible. I was homeschooled, or 'on the road schooled' as my mom liked to call it, and the result was they were my best—and often—only friends.

The first year I started college, they stayed close by, but by the time sophomore year rolled around, they grew restless. If I admit it to myself, I'm growing a little restless too.

Pushing my sadness and loneliness aside, I climb in bed later, clutching my pillow and quickly fall asleep to daydreams of being on the road with a certain green-eyed patient.

**-oOo-**

Barely remembering to put food out for Tomcat the next morning, I'm up at the crack of dawn and rushing out of my apartment to make it to the hospital. I just know Edward's up because with the nurses' constant checks, sleeping for more than a couple hours at a time is nothing short of a miracle.

As soon as I walk into his room, I chuckle at seeing him fighting with the remote attached to the wall, almost beating it against the little night stand by his bed.

My laugh makes him look up and my stomach flutters at how his whole face lights up. Taking a quick look at my appearance—tired from barely sleeping—he frowns then opens his arms wide.

"What?" I look at him, wondering what he's trying to show me.

His arms flop down to the bed and he nods solemnly. "You're right. Hugs are bad. Drugs not hugs and all that, right?"

"Umm, it's definitely 'Hugs not Drugs'."

"Exactly." He grins in triumph, opening his arms again and curling his fingers over and over calling me forth. I laugh, walking over to him and without thinking much about it, I crawl into the bed with him, over the covers, but still. "Wow, you're pretty good at this hugging thing. We should do it more often." I sniffle in response, not realizing how much I missed just being held and hugged by someone. My dad gives the best hugs. "Whoa now, not the reaction I was expecting—am I not a good hugger?"

"You're a good hugger." I squeeze his middle tight. "I'm just feeling a little sad is all. Nostalgic, you could say."

"Wanna tell me about it?"

"It's probably silly." I shrug.

"Probably."

"Hey!" I poke him in the side. "Be nice."

He laughs, grabbing my finger that's digging into his rib and kissing the tip of it. "Tell me. Just pretend I'm in a coma again."

"Stop that." I smack his chest with my other hand, then sigh. "I miss my parents," I admit sadly. "I know it's kinda pathetic, but other than Angela, they're my only real friends. And, well, they've been on vacation for a while. They were supposed to come back this weekend, but they're extending their trip."

"Do you really miss them or do you just wanna get rid of the demon cat?"

I bark out a watery laugh, impressed he remembered. "Maybe a little of both."

"Just so you know." He tilts my chin up. "That's not silly. It's sweet and I get it. I miss my family like crazy too." And because it's clear he has an issue with serious moments, he adds, "And my bed, my car, real food, real clothes, my shower—"

"Oh! That reminds me."

"My shower reminded you of something? Is it something dirty?"

I snort. He has no idea. "I got you something."

"Bella—"

"No objections until you see what it is," I snap playfully, handing him the bag of things I got for him.

Smiling, he sifts through the bag, his eyes suddenly widening in amusement. "And what exactly did you propose I do with these?" He lifts up one pair of the brand new underwear I bought. I face palm. Does my embarrassment in front of him know no bounds?

"Give me that." I try to grab them out of his hands, but he pulls them away from my grasp.

"No takebacks. It's not cool being an Indian giver."

"Those are not for you."

"They're not?" He gasps. "For who, then? I'll kick his ass."

"Edward."

"Bella, seriously, I have no shame in admitting my love for pink thongs with blue stripes on them. I'm just shocked you knew my size." I can't hold it anymore, all traces of mock annoyance gone and I collapse against him in a fit of giggles. "That's a great sound . . . your laugh."

I chuckle a little awkwardly at the compliment. "Thanks."

"So, you know that thing you said earlier, about Angela and your parents being your only friends?"

"Yeah?"

"Is that something you're looking to change, 'cause I've been known to be pretty awesome in the friendship department."

"So you wanna be friends?" I smile when I say this, but the word leaves a weird taste in my mouth. My brain ticks off 'attachment issues' to the list of things I need to discuss with a real psychiatrist one day. I fail to find a logical explanation for my need to be more to this guy I've only been around for a total of four days. Two of which he was barely conscious for.

His face scrunches up in a cute grimace. Who knew a grimace could be cute? "Yeah. Friends is a good place to start, right?" To start? I nod—this sounds promising. "So, now that we're friends," he says quietly, almost shyly, "and we go way back since last weekend, helping me get freshened up and stuff, wouldn't be weird, right?"

Yes, because I won't be held responsible for my actions. "No . . . I-I can help you," I stammer out. "Sure."

Helping Edward freshen up is actually a lot more awkward than I had hoped. He undoes the hospital gown, whipping it to the floor, but leaves the sheet wrapped from his hips down. When I had fantasized about a 'sponge bath', he was definitely fully naked, and I may or may not have been in a naughty nurse uniform.

I can't help but frown while running my fingers over some of the cuts on his arms and chest, realizing I had all but forgotten he was in an accident. I can almost feel him withdrawing from me, so I stop being a creep and reach for his shirt. "I'm sure you got this."

"Yeah." He's quiet. "Thanks."

"And—" I grab the flannels from the bag, tugging at the sheets "—I can help you with these."

"No, that's okay," he says quickly, trying to tug them back, but I pull them down before he can. It's the first time I come face-to-face with his casted legs. It doesn't bother me in the slightest, but his squirming shows me it's making him self-conscious.

"I like your boxers," I blurt out in an attempt to distract him, even though I'm terribly disappointed he has some on, I dont fool him.

His melancholy quickly evaporates as he starts teasing me about being a perv for thinking he was naked underneath his gown. "They tried giving me those hospital issued ones, but I refused to be diapered. One of the nurses bought these for me in the gift shop."

"How nice." My voice reeks of jealousy. This means one of those lucky nurse bitches got to help him change and got to see all his glorious nakedness. That was probably the plan and I internally kick myself for not thinking of it myself.

A few minutes later, after he declines my offer to help him put on his pants, a nurse who's old enough to be Moses mother strolls in. She smiles at him, offering me a warm one as well.

"Mrs. Cope," he greets her warmly. "This is Bella. I was just telling her about your generous gift." He pats his side. Oh! The old bat got him the boxers. Thank God! I was imagining a chesty blonde with legs for days, thrusting her chesitness in his face.

"You remember, that's good." My eyes go wide. Holy shit, she doesn't know either. "So how are you feeling, dear? One to ten."

I notice he glances at me before he answers with a stiff shrug. "Three."

"Really?" She looks at him with skeptical eyes. "It's been several hours since your last dosage." Then she turns her, now scornful, eyes on me.

"Wow, look at the time," I say a little too enthusiastically. "I'm sure Angela should be here by now. Let me check to see what she has me doing today. I'll be back, okay." I almost wanna cry when as I'm leaving his room, I hear him tell Nurse Cope his pain level's really at an eight.

Since a couple of the girls are no-shows, I actually end up having quite a few things to do around the hospital, only getting to check in on Edward once while he's passed out in a deep sleep from whatever Nurse Cope gave him.

At the end of my 'shift', I head back to his room, settling down in a seat with the decision to wait for him to wake up. I'm there for a while before I hear a groggy and drowsy request for a hug. I smile and climb in next to him, careful not to jostle his legs.

"I came in earlier." I feel like he needs to know this. "But you were in a deep sleep."

"Yeah, Nurse Cope drugged me."

"She was probably trying to take advantage of you," I tease him, and for some reason, decide to reach out to snap the waistband of his boxers, only I misjudge my reach and end up brushing my hand against him. I admittedly linger for a second before I feel him twitch underneath my hand, causing me to snap it back like I touched a hot stove. Before I can get too embarrassed, he grabs it back, resting it on his stomach, twining our fingers together. We lie silently for a while and I'm shocked he doesn't tease me about it. "How are you feeling?" I finally wonder. "Still weary from the meds?"

"No. I slept straight through, so I'm good. I didn't have anyone barging in my room and bothering me."

"Yeah, the president of your fan club wasn't here today."

"Probably 'cause I complained."

"What?" I sit up.

"I don't like annoying people." He shrugs. His comments about her having 'no idea who he is and what he can do' come back to my mind. "Plus, she sabotaged my trying to kiss you. She had to pay." He says this with all the seriousness in the world, and my eyes bug out a little bit, but his lip starts twitching. I punch him in the shoulder. "What? I really did complain," he explains, "but I doubt it did anything 'cause it was just to Nurse Cope. And I'm totally serious about the kiss. I want a re-do."

My heart rate speeds up and instinctively, I move in closer to him, similar to the day before. He strains to sit up a bit but I rest a hand on his shoulder, keeping him in place.

This time we're not interrupted.

My eyes flutter closed as our lips touch. I don't think I've ever kissed someone whose lips are so soft, yet rough and manly at the same time. It's a sweet, sensitive kiss, just lips brushing and molding against each others. I feel his mouth form into a smile a few times before placing chaste kiss after chaste kiss on my lips before he leans back into the bed.

I settle into his side silently. Before I know it, I fall asleep with a vague awareness of his deep voice speaking to me in the background.

* * *

***Apparently there's a city in Austria called "Fucking" even though I think it's pronounced like fooking—according to Wikipedia. LOL**

**Thanks for reading!**

**Until Next Time**


	7. Chapter 7

**~7.~.  
**  
The week that follows is pretty fucking amazing.

Instead of only going on weekends, I visit Edward at the hospital everyday after classes and my exams. Mostly at his insistence—though I don't put up a fight. And if for any reason I'm running late he calls me, a little nervously, to make sure I'm still coming. It's the cutest things ever. And also a little comforting that it appears I'm not the only one with attachment issues.

Also, the jig is up and it comes out, somehow, he does not have amnesia.

So they move him to a different department— it's like physical therapy but not quite— where they work with him while his legs and bad arm heal and whatnot. Yeah, I didn't know his arm was hurt as well. It explains his constant straining whenever he tried to sit up, but he got an earful about that one. Dare I say it was even our first, and hopefully last, argument. But that's over now, the important thing—to me— is that they are taking better care of him.

Also that he wants me there with him all the time. And that will hopefully extend to when he gets out of this hell hole. The thought of us spending time out in the real world makes me giddy.

Giddy—that's how I feel every time I see or speak to him. It's a constant state of 'warmth' and happiness. Which, if I'm being honest here, is probably attributed to a constant state of horniness. 'Cause good God this man . . . his kisses I tell ya, are things dreams and legends are made of.

And with the knowledge of how wonderful his tongue feels—just in my mouth, yeah I'm constantly visualizing all the things he might be able to do with them, elsewhere.

The unfortunate thing about this situation, though, is that I'm not a completely unfeeling and insensitive whore monger. So, things never really progress much past kissing. I mean, he's in the hospital with broken legs for Christ sake; I have to show some self control.

Okay that's not the total truth. I hang my head in shame as I admit that I, Bella Swan, have no self control. What I do have, however, is a major sense of guilt because after attacking Edward one day and landing awkwardly on his legs, he howled out in pain and I've been scared to cause more damage. He assured me he was fine, but his crumpled face showed me otherwise, and I fought not to cry. That's the day I figured out that seeing him in pain—any pain—would surely be my undoing.

But other than just the physical sense, I am also glad to report we're getting closer and closer everyday—on an emotional wavelength as well.

Since there's not a whole lot else to do, we talk . . . a lot, and about everything.

And when he gets so animated, telling me about his family and stories about his brother and sister growing up—I know without a doubt I'm falling for him. I know it's too soon for that but I can't control it.

My parents are my world, my everything, and it's not easy I run across people who seem as family oriented—see obsessed—as me.

Our first few visits were a little uncomfortable, for him, not me. Because he's on wheelchair status. I don't why he seems to think I'll care he's not walking and stuff right now—it's probably the only thing about him that annoys me to be honest. But I try not to be too hard on him 'cause I'm not sure how he's feeling.

It's okay now, though. Our dates—that's what I call my visits 'cause we hang out in the cafeteria and patio areas, and activities rooms a lot—consist of him in his pajamas and robe that I bought him. I'm normally in whatever I wore to school that day.

There's no pretense.

No pressure.

For some it's lame and cheesy but for us it's pretty perfect.

"You know what I just realized?"

I look up from the foot of Edward's bed, and staring at him from behind a hand of colorful cards, I throw down a 'draw four' card smugly. "That you absolutely have no strategy when it comes to UNO?"

"That," he nods, "and you've never asked me if I have a girlfriend or wife."

Since he says this with the bottom half of his face covered by cards, I have no way of knowing where he's going with this—like if he's being playful like normal— but his comment makes me think back to everything we've discussed over the past week.

I know he's twenty-five and that he graduated last year from graduate school with a degree in Kinesiology. He's still in the process of deciding if he wants to go into 'Sports medicine' or becoming a personal trainer.

"Ironic, huh?" he had said, while looking down sadly at his legs. I straddled his lap right then and attempted to reach my tongue all the way back to his tonsils. I rationalized if it made me feel better when he did that, it would make him feel better as well. It worked.

Being that we're both a little weird, it seems, nothing is off limits during our talks.

For example, I find out he lost his virginity at thirteen to a much older girl—and in the hospital morgue.

"Really?" I scrunched up my nose.

"Yeah. My dad thought I was at the age to have 'the talk'. He tried to put the fear of God in me. It didn't work and I basically lost it the next week to our neighbor –out of sheer curiosity on what the big deal was."

"Seriously?" I gave him a blank look. "You think my reaction is to your _age_? Versus, you know, the morgue part?"

"Oh that!" He flicked his hands. So then I got to hear the story of how his parents met.

During his internship, or something, his dad—Carlisle—colleagues thought it would be funny to prank him. Their idea? — get one of the nurses to play dead, and lay in the morgue, then scream and pop up when he walks in. Well, none of the nurses would do it. So one of the volunteers—a sweet girl named Esme, who had her own prankster spirit—stepped up for the challenge.

That became their little 'meeting spot' and ironically his dad still works down there from time to time. Weird. So, this girl, this neighbor girl who took his virginity, having heard the story, wanted to see his parents meeting place and there you have it.

As . . . interesting, as the story was—the only thing that stood out in my mind wasn't his ties to a morgue—'cause I teased him that's probably where he was conceived—but that his mother was also a volunteer.

"Like father like son, huh?" I waggled my eyebrows.

Besides that, being that we're both a little weird, it doesn't seem much is off limits. I tell him about losing my virginity as well—at fifteen—to a guy named James who's family travelled around a lot like mine, except his were a little more . . . ah, nomadic you can say. It was at a camp site we were staying at one summer.

We also both share stories of our awkward phases, he went through a Goth phase, I did the fake bleach blonde thing.

I admit to a time my dad found a vibrator of mine and I couldn't look him in the face for weeks, only to later put the blame on my mom and claim it wasn't mine. And as if we we're playing poker, Edward 'saw' my vibe story and 'raised' me the time he walked in on his brother and his first boyfriend going at it—he hadn't come out yet, adding to the shock. But a few days later, with Edward's backing, Jasper broke the news to his parents who . . . and I quote looked at him and said 'we already figured dear, we knew before you did' and then proceeded to force him to bring his boyfriend to dinner the next day.

It made me fall in love with his family without even meeting them. But with all the things I learned about him—I'd be here all day if I listed them—I learned that no one in their right mind wouldn't be keeping tabs on him had he had someone in his life in that capacity.

Dropping a red eight, then yellow eight in the pile, I look at him again. "You don't have either," I say firmly with a nod. "No way."

"Is that an insult of some sort?" He looks at me pensively.

"What? No—"

"'Cause I just wanna know how to respond. Like, how you're clearly a nerd who plays too much UNO."

"Hey!" I throw a card at him but it falls to the floor. "It's not an insult," I reassure him. "More like a compliment. If you had a girlfriend, wife, or even a boyfriend—"

"I don't have a boyfriend.

"But if you did, they would have found you by now. Even with the amnesia and coma wrap."

"Ah, yes . . . because I would be married to someone in the CIA. Very true."

"Edward, be serious."

"I am actually. I mean . . ." he pauses, his face turning more serious than I've ever seen."Why do you think I don't have anyone? Is it 'cause I'm not boyfriend material or something?"

"No you are."

"Okay then . . ."

"That's the thing." I smile. "A guy like you, if you did have a wife or girlfriend, there's no way in hell they wouldn't miss you. They would have definitely been scouring the earth for you right now, you know. And if the ambulance brought you to this hospital, versus the other—better ones—in the area, that means you live closer to here and must have been close to home from the airport. There wouldn't be a lot of ground to cover." Then I shrug. "Also, you don't seem like a dirtbag so if you had someone, you would have called them as soon as you woke up."

Lowering the cards from blocking his face, he grins. "Been thinking about that one for a while huh? Or did you just calculate all that off the top of your head?"

I stick out my tongue, refusing to admit I had indeed been thinking about this for quite some time. Or that Angela and I searched the local wedding announcements within the past five years for anyone by the name of Edward Masen. We did find a few but the pictures weren't of my Edward. Thank God.

When I put down another draw four card, he sighs. "You know . . . I'm a little disappointed in the conversation we just had. I really felt like you got me ya know, but now I'm not so sure."

His tone shocks me. "What? Why?"

"Let just back track a little." He clears his throat."You know what I just realized?"

"What have you realized," I repeat flatly.

"That you haven't asked me if I have a girlfriend or wife."

"Didn't we just . . ." I stop when he gives me a pointed look, and dramatic eye roll.

"Have _you_ realized anything, Bella?"

Slowly catching on, but not really, I nod slowly.

His smile comes back. "Whatever could that be?"

"Umm . . ." With one eye wide and the other squinted, I speak slowly. "I never asked if you had a girlfriend?" Of course it comes out like a question—he's being weird.

He nods slowly and hums. "That's a very good question." Then he sighs dramatically. "It pains me to report that I do not, in fact, have a wife, girlfriend, or boyfriend. But—" he winks "—if you'd like to change that …"

"And how would I do that?"

His sigh is genuine now, I can tell.

"You're killing me here. How else would _you_ change me not having a girlfriend?"

The only way I could do that is by being his girlfriend, I guess. "Oh! OH!" I quickly drop the cards and run my hands through my hair a little—this is cause for some primping.

However he doesn't continue. He's looking at me, I'm looking at him, and slowly both our wide smiles start to fade.

"Well?" he finally urges.

"Well what?"

"Aren't you gonna answer?"

"Aren't you gonna ask?"

"Didn't I just …"

"No you didn't."

"Fine," he sighs playfully. "Bella, will you—"

"Absolutely!" I blurt out.

"—help me to the bathroom?"

All the cards get thrown at him now as I huff then pout.

"Aww … come here." He reaches his arms out. "I'm just kidding. Well, about the bathroom part not the being my girlfriend part."

When he curls his hand over a couple of time, I crawl on the bed and over to him, resting at his side. "You're not funny," I tell him. "I know you think you are but you're not!"

His answer is to attack my side with his fingers, making me squirm and squeal out in laughter.

"Well if I'm so 'not funny' and all, how come you're laughing?"

"Stop!" I shout through snorts and giggles, but this only spurs him on.

"What's so funny?"

"Edward—"

"Bella, stop being selfish—tell me the joke … I wanna laugh, too."

Realizing he's not going to stop his assault, I reach out to try and grab a hold of his hand and twist it back—all's fair in love and tickle wars and all—but my hand lands elsewhere. Near the Promised Land.

Before I could pull away, I feel his palm come to rest on the back of my hand and the one that was tickling me just minutes ago, glide to lay flat against my back. When his hand curls around mine and slides up and down a little against the bulge in his pants, I bite my lip and smile.

"Really?"

I see him visibly swallow, followed by a slow nod, before his lips crash into mine. It's a hungry kiss, similar to just about every other one we've had—minus our first. But I can still feel the passion behind it.

I sigh into his mouth, causing him to reach behind my knee and bring my thigh to hitch over his hip. We're doing our best to grope at each other but the position doesn't allow for much. So he tries to roll over to bring me to straddle him, but I can tell he's straining a little. So I, as carefully as possible, straddle his lap—trying my best to keep my weight off his legs.

"Hold on," he says with a smile reaching behind him. I quirk an eyebrow at him, but then I start giggling when I feel the head of the bed leaning backwards.

It's a little more comfortable, for me, but I could see Edward trying to hide the pain he's feeling.

"You okay?"

"Yeah," he answers quietly but it's strained.

"Maybe we shouldn't—"

"Not completely, but . . ." he trails off cupping the back of my head and bringing our mouths back together. "Holy shit!" Edward gasps out. I chuckle and nod. My voice still not working. "You're pretty good at that . . . we gotta do that more often."

"Better than the hugs?"

"The hugs are amazing—" he nods "—but yeah, sorry that was way better."

I agree.

* * *

**They consummated making it official with a good old fashion dry hump (that I took out)! I don't think it was graphic but ya never know! *sigh***


	8. Chapter 8

**~8.~**

"Baby ... You _have_ to call them for me. Please, I can't do it."

"No way—" I shake my head "—they don't even know me. If I call, it'll only make it worse and they'll worry even more."

This has been going on for over an hour. Edward's family should be landing anytime now, or might have already landed. He's scared shitless to call and tell them what happened because he knows they're going to rip him a new one for not finding a way to tell them two weeks ago when he first woke up. Why he thinks them hearing it from me, a complete and total stranger is any better, I don't know.

But when he called me 'baby', I almost caved.

It's a new development over the past couple days. The first time I thought it was a slip of the tongue, you know during fun times, but after the third, fourth, and fifth time, I realized it was my new nickname. I don't think I've ever had a pet name before, and I must admit the cooter stands at attention when he says it.

Finally, after realizing Edward's really not going to call on his own, I give in because his family really needs to know. The minute they see his cousin Ben—who he called and asked to pick them up for him—they're sure to freak out.

I ask him for his sister's number because I reason it'll be better—as in less stressful—than having to talk to a parent.

Dialing the number he gave me, my heart starts beating rapidly and my palms start sweating. Talking to a boyfriend's sister is a big deal—to me at least. Especially given the level of importance I know she has in his life.

Just when I think no one's going to answer, an angel-like voice comes on the phone.

_"Hello?"_

"Umm . . . y-yes hello . . . hi," I squeak out. What the fuck? "Is this . . . umm . . . can I—can I speak to Rosalie?"

_"Yes, this is she_," the small voice says.

"Hi—" I clear my throat "—my name is Bella and I'm a friend of your brother's."

_"Which one?"_

"Edward."

_"Oh . . ."_ she pauses for a moment. _"Bella? I'm sorry I don't think I've heard my brother mention you before. Is there something I can help you with? Is everything okay?"_

"No! I mean yes, everything's fine. But, you see, we haven't known each other that long and so that's why you and I haven't met, but hopefully . . ." I trail off when I see Edward flailing his arms for me to get on with it. "Sorry about that. Anyway, the reason I'm calling is because, well, Edward was in an accident."

"_WHAT!"_ she shouts so loud I'm pretty sure my ear drums bleed. Then I hear muffling and what sounds like scuffling before she's back on the phone. "_Okay, Bella. You're on speaker."_

Fuck!

.

.

.

"Yes, ma'am . . . No, ma'am . . . Yes, I'm sorry for not letting you guys know sooner. No, I won't ever do it again. Okay, mom I love you too. Alright, bye . . . I'll see you guys soon."

As Edward gets off the phone, I narrow my eyes at him. Talking to his family was the worst experience of my life. Okay, that's a slight exaggeration, they were all very nice—just a little overwhelming.

When his sister Rosalie put me on speaker, I had no idea that meant I would have an audience that consisted of his parents Esme and Carlisle, Rosalie and her boyfriend Alec, their brother Jasper and his boyfriend Caius, Aunt Carmen and Uncle Eleazer as well as cousin Ben—who picked them all up from the airport.

I'll admit I had to ask them to repeat 'Eleazer' a few times because since we're talking about Edward's family here, I was pretty sure they were fucking with me and saying Ebenezer, you know the scrooge guy? And when I, embarrassingly, focused my attention on asking them if it meant anything, Edward literally face-palmed. It's not my fault his grandparents were clearly hitting the pipe when they came up with that one.

Anyway, a million questions were fired at me at once and not knowing how to answer, I immediately gave Edward the phone. Well, threw it at him like we were playing a game of 'hot potato' is probably a better description—but no need to haggle over semantics.

I had no idea how to deal with them. I mean, I don't have a large family, it's just me and my parents and my two uncles, who I don't see too often. The only other person is Grandma Swan, but she kicked the bucket a long time ago. I never knew her, actually, but when she died, she left behind enough to give me and my parents a cushy life.

But I digress.

Back to the attack of Edwards family—which is only about to get worse.

Right now, I'm ignoring the shit out of him 'cause he took it upon himself to confirm to his family that 'Yes, Bella will be here when you guys get here'.

Asshat!

I came straight from class and since it was my last exam before spring break, class was early as hell. I'm wearing some crazy hot pink sweats and a dark purple t-shirt—the first things I saw when I crawled out of bed. My hair is on top of my head in a crazy bun and I've got on a pair of flip flops that I still don't know what color they are. Magenta, fuchsia, pinkish—who knows.

I look like shit but I'm comfortable enough around Edward now to not care that I look crazy at the moment. His family—not so much.

This is NOT how they should be meeting me for the first time.

"Awww come on, babe, don't be mad," Edward pleads with a pout, trying to get me to talk to him.

It's not working. Well, not really. Okay, maybe it is a _little_ bit.

"Loovveee," he repeats it low and breathy. "Come here. Please?"

I shake my head and pout, making him lean over and reach out for my arms, pulling me to the edge of the bed. "They won't care what you're wearing, Bella. Or that your hair looks like a rat's nest."

I gasp, but he has a huge smile on his face, so I punch him in the shoulder. This is sooo not the time to toy with my fragile emotions. "I'm joking babe, you look fine," he coos, wrapping his arm around my waist, pulling me to him. I take the cue to straddle him carefully, threading my fingers behind his neck.

"I want your family to like me," I tell him. I plan on tapping that—often—once he's healed and out of here, and I want to have his babies. Having his family dislike me might put a damper on all those plans.

"They will," he promises, placing a playful kiss on my nose. "You'll see . . . once I tell them _exactly _how we met, they'll love you."

"You will do no such thing! They're gonna think I'm weird."

"They're gonna think you're quirky."

"Which is really just another word for weird, Edward."

"Whoa!" He makes a face. "I don't like how you just said my name." His grimace deepens. "It was a little upsetting in fact, so . . . yeah, don't say it like that again, please."

I roll my eyes. He gets serious about the weirdest things. But he's right, I said his name in a bit of a scolding manner—like I'm upset, and I'm not. I'm just nervous as hell.

"If they don't like me, will it change your opinion of me?" I ask, looking down at his lap.

"Hey . . ." he bends his head down, searching for my eyes. "That's never going to happen, so don't worry about that. Where's this insecure girl coming from?" He pouts.

I shrug. "I've never met parents before."

"Okay, does that mean you _don't_ want to meet them?"

"What? No!"

He lets out a breath, leaning back in the bed. I frown, realizing he must be somewhat looking forward to introducing me to them, yet here I am getting all scared and nervous—for only God knows what reason.

"I want to meet them," I reassure him—leaning down to press my lips to his.

"Promise?"

"Promise." I stick my tongue out, urging his mouth open. He hums, cupping the back of my head and opens his lips wider around mine—forcing his tongue even deeper in my mouth.

"I can't wait 'til I can just _be_ with you," he whispers, voice husky against my neck.

We're in our own lusty world—not paying attention to the time, when a throat clears.

"I sure hope this is Bella, son," a male voice says, followed by a woman who doesn't miss a beat, adding, "and that you've made her your girlfriend—or else her dad would be pretty pissed at the way you're mauling her."

It all happens pretty quickly after that. I jump away from Edward like he just told me he had a contagious flesh eating bacteria and try to scramble off the bed. Only the side I try to get out from has the side railing up. I didn't know that. So, in trying to get off, I end up getting my foot caught and start falling off the side, arms and legs flailing all over the place. In the process, I end up cringing in pain when I feel my other foot hit the side of something.

That's not all.

I land awkwardly on the ground—on my head and get part of my pants stuck in the railing. I'm now on the floor, head already pounding, and thong-clad ass, bare on the floor of Edward's hospital room. In front of his family.

"Oh, my God," someone gasps, and I could just feel the flurry going on around me. Some are asking me if I'm okay—others asking Edward.

"Huh?" I groan out.

"I'm okay," I hear him say. "It's just a bloody nose."

My eyes pop open and I try to sit up, banging my forehead against something.

"Ow."

"Fuck."

"Are you okay?" I look over and see a mass of blonde hair with a pretty girl underneath it. Her hand—attached to an arm with beautiful ink all over it—is rubbing over her forehead, her pierced lips curled up in a smile, and her green eyes are amused as hell.

"Edward?" I croak out, more concerned about his bloody nose at the moment than making introductions.

"He'll be okay, you just kicked him in the nose is all."

Groaning, I close my eyes and let myself fall back to the floor. I also make a special request of it and it goes something like this: Dear floor,—please with all the power you possess, can you please just open up and devour me whole. Save me from this mortification.

It falls on deaf ears.

When I open my eyes again, thanks to someone flashing a light in my face, I blink a few times and see four pairs of eyes staring at me, unblinking.

The blonde girl with the big hair, two blond guys—who I assume are Edward's brother and father—and a woman who I know is his mom, because she looks just like Edward if he were wearing a wig.

"You alright, dear?" she asks me with an equally amused and concerned smile. I nod my head slowly. "Good. Now, let's get you off this floor. God only knows what disease you just caught, because it doesn't look like they've mopped it since the hospital doors opened."

**(J—D)**

When I get home—I'm sore from my 'accident' and wishing with all that I am for the power to go back in time before Edward's family walked in on us mid dry hump.

"It was so embarrassing, Tommy," I tell Tomcat, sitting on the floor and running my fingers through his hair. He's really warmed up to me and I'm thankful for that 'cause it means I don't have to sleep with one eye open. "What a first impression." I shake my head. "I mean, they were really nice, but . . ." I trail off and purse my lips, thinking about the time I spent with them. They were kind, like really kind, to the point you're not sure if it's genuine.

I quiet down for too long it seems, because Tomcat starts meowing at me, rubbing his head against my hand.

I continue confiding in him—telling him all about Edward's family. "Rosalie is sweet; she's kind of quirky, too. She's super tiny with the biggest blonde bouffant hair style, and covered in tats. She's awesome. Jasper's a character too." I smile. "He's like a geeky buff guy, who drops big words in the same sentence as every curse word known to man, some which haven't been invented yet, as well."

Tomcat purrs, I take that as a sign he likes what I'm saying. "And if you promise not to act possessed anymore, and you know, Edward keeps me around—then we can talk about you meeting them."

I talk to him for a couple more minutes before deciding to call it an early night.

In the morning, I decide to dress like a human being—in a simple sundress—sure Edward's family will probably be around most of the day, and determined to make a good, well better, impression.

When I get there, though, I find Angela pacing in front of his room, nervous.

"Ang? What's wrong?"

"Bella." She looks at me sadly. "I have to tell you something. Edward's gone."

I gasp, my whole world crumbling in a matter of seconds as I barrel past her into his room, taking in the empty bed. "No." I feel my knees buckling a little. "He was just fine yesterday . . . how could . . ."

"Shit . . . fuck, no!" Angela grabs my shoulder, shaking me a little forcefully. "That's not what I meant. He's not dead. Christ, talk about jumping to the worst conclusion."

I wanna smack her. "What else am I supposed to think when you're all dramatic with it? _He's gone_," I mock her. "Really, Angela, if there's ever a job where people have to give someone news, don't apply for it."

"You mean like a _news anchor_?"

"Thanks, smart ass. Where's Edward?"

"That's what I'm trying to tell you—when I got to work I realized he wasn't here. He was discharged this morning to another hospital."

"Which one?"

"I'm sorry, honey, but I don't know."

* * *

**Thanks for reading**

**Until Next Time**

**~Lo**


	9. Chapter 9

**~9.~**

After returning home, I spend several hours in what I would describe as a state akin to an emotional coma. It's somewhat self-imposed, but feels unavoidable just the same.

I don't know what else to do with myself, so I stay in bed with Tomcat curled at my feet—stuffing my face with every sweet dairy product known to man. You know the usual ice cream, Cool Whip, and cake frosting—I'm not very original.

My fingers are gripped tightly around my phone, and despite it being on loud _and_ vibrate, I glance at it every minute or so checking to see if I missed a call or text from Edward. Since it hasn't come, I've resolved to simply listening to his short, interrupted and static filled message he left on my phone sometime this morning.

'_Baby . . . me. Issues . . . other hospital and I'll call . . . or ask Rose and I'll . . . okay? . . . soon!'_

Nothing. I got nothing from that, but I listen to it over and over in hopes of picking up some sort of clue as to what happened.

With no other ideas coming to mind, I call Rosalie's cell phone, again. I assume it's hers because it's the number I called yesterday when they landed at the airport. Again, it goes straight to voicemail.

I have no idea what to think. Though I'm not surprised his family got him out of the atrocious hospital at the first chance they could, there's still a part of me wondering if maybe I have something to do with that decision. I wasn't that bad was I?

I reflect on this for a while, as I bring myself to the point of borderline diabetes.

I'm not surprised when, later in the day, Angela comes barreling through my door. Living alone, my father always drilled into me the importance of always keeping in constant contact with someone so in case anything ever happened, someone would notice I've gone missing. He's comforting like that. In any case, part of me keeping someone close is Angela having a spare key to my apartment and the doorman knowing her by name.

"Okay," she sighs, ripping the blanket off my legs and scaring the life out of Tomcat in the process. "I had a feeling this is what I was gonna find."

I huff and glare at her, pulling the covers back over myself and stick the spoon of frosting in my mouth. She needs to let me sulk in peace.

"I brought you dinner," she says a little flatly, handing me a grocery bag. I open it and inside is a canned box of Swanson broth, a tray of chicken, vegetables and seasoning. I give her an inquisitive look. "So maybe what I brought was the ingredients for _you_ to make dinner." She shrugs."Same diff."

"It's actually not."

"I figured you needed something to keep you busy, and I needed dinner. Win win. Now let's go into the kitchen while you make some phone calls."

"Phone calls?" I grab the bag and throw my legs over the side of the bed. "What are you talking about?"

Pulling me impatiently by my hand and into the kitchen, Angela begins to explain a few points of her day. "So I tried to get a hold of Edward's chart but couldn't find it because the girls in medical records were exceptionally useless today. On top of that, whatever information they do have in the electronic system—I can't access. It's like Fort Knox when it comes to getting information about him."

"That's . . . weird," I muse.

"Yeah." She bends over, grabbing a pan from the cabinet under the sink and plopping it on the stove. "I was actually getting pretty annoyed that I was meeting with so many damn obstacles."

I snicker. "Well, that's one thing we clearly do okay. Not violate privacy laws."

"Not really—" she snorts "—just with Edward. And I can't wait to find out why. Anyway . . ." she grabs the tray of chicken and brings them to the sink, peeling at some of the fat and rinsing them under hot water. I casually hand her a bowl and some salt, wondering if she realizes she's starting to cook her own food. "Dr. Altera was in today and he gave me an idea."

I smile at that—Dr. Altera is probably the only competent doctor we have on our floor. The floor I normally get stuck on, not the department they had Edward in for his physical therapy. He's only there like once a week—if that—and it's probably only to make sure the doctors are keeping things up to standards. We'll let it slide that he clearly dropped the ball while Edward was there.

"So what's the idea he gave you?" I ask.

"He was making some calls to check on one of his patients and it dawned on me—if by the time I come here if you haven't heard from Edward, that's what we'd do. Call around in search for him."

At the mention of his name, I tear back into my room to grab my phone. He still hasn't called. I let out a growl of frustration, slumping back into the kitchen.

I'm debating if I should bother with the manhunt. If he wanted me to know where he was, he would have surely found a way to tell me by now.

"Stop that train of thought right now," Angela admonishes when she looks at my face. "Whatever his reasons for not telling you where he is, you have the right to get them told to your face. So we look for him, then we kick his ass for stressing you out all day. Start dialing."

I smile, slowly getting back my confidence. Maybe he has legit reasons for not being able to talk to me yet. It shouldn't matter anyway. I told him if he had a girlfriend, she would scour the earth to find him. Now he has one—me—and it's my job to find him. Then—like Angela said—kick his ass for disappearing and stressing me out.

"Where do I call?"

She shrugs. "Every hospital in a fifty mile radius. There's only about five or six, I think."

Smiling at her, I grab my laptop and pull up the search engine for contact information of the hospitals.

Thirty minutes later, we're both a little deflated because I was unable to get anyone to confirm Edward was a patient as I'm not an immediate family member.

"Too bad you're not Doctor," Angela muses. "They would probably give you more information, or at the very least confirm if he was a patient there even if they couldn't divulge details."

"That's okay." I shrug, pressing the numbers to Rosalie's cell phone again.

"Who are you calling?"

"Edward's sister, Rosalie—she's not answering though. I think her phone is off."

Angela looks at me and suddenly, her eyes and smile are bright. "I have an idea, give me your laptop."

"Umm . . . alright." I slide it over to her, scrunching my eyebrows together as I watch her fingers fly across the keyboard. After a few minutes, she looks frustrated.

"Damn!"

"What?"

"Facebook," she huffs. "I was looking for a Rosalie Masen but I can't find one. There's a Rosalie Cullen, though."

"Let me see that!" I rip the laptop from her grasp. Then my eyes widen and I almost choke on air when I see the duck lips, the arm covered in beautiful designs, the pierced lip and of course the massive hair. "That's her. That's Rosalie." I point. "Friend request her!"

"No way." Angela grabs the laptop back from my hand. "I don't even know her. Now if you'd just cave and get a page of your own, you'd be able to request her yourself."

"Whatever," I huff. "Look through her friends," I suggest."See if she has an Edward Masen, or—" I gulp "—Cullen." I frown, hoping she doesn't find him under Cullen, not sure why he would give me a false name.

"Okay, her friends are blocked but she has her family showing. Here! Edward Masen is listed as her brother."

"Request him!" I bark. She doesn't dare argue this time.

Clicking on the request button, she informs me if he's still in a hospital, the chances of him accepting her request anytime soon isn't likely.

Seemingly bored with our spying, or more hungry at the moment than she is nosey, Angela leaves the table to continue prepping our dinner. I take control of the laptop again, smiling at the picture of Edward that stares back at me. His head is covered in a weird hat and he's making a goofy face, while someone's hand is making bunny fingers behind his head. I smile sadly at it. "Where are you?" I whisper to the screen.

I stare at it, then cock my head to the side at the 'about' section.

'Worked at: Volturi-Cullen Sports Medicine and Physical Rehabilitation Center'.

"Ang," I call out to her softly. "Have you heard of this place?"

I feel her come stand next to me and look over my shoulder.

"I haven't heard of the place, but I sure know the last names. Everyone in the medical field does."

"I'm not in the medical field," I remind her. "I just volunteer at a hospital—the politics don't reach me. I wonder what this means." I jut my head toward the screen.

"I don't get it."

"His sister's name is Rosalie _Cullen_. He worked at Volturi-_Cullen_ . . ." As I'm saying this, I'm already copying and pasting the name into a Google search.

The first thing that comes up is a website and contact information. I click on it and without thinking ahead, I dial.

"_V-C Rehab Center,"_ a voice sings, but I can still hear some irritation behind it. You know kinda like that receptionist who's trying to convince themselves they want their job.

I freeze not sure what to say as Angela just stares at me asking with her face for clarification of what I'm doing.

"Yes, this is umm . . ." Her comment about how much easier it would be if I was a doctor comes back and I clear my throat. "This is Dr. Swan-_son Broth,_" I add when I look over at the counter.

Both of Angela's arms fly in the air, and her eyes go wide. 'What the fuck?' she mouths.

"I panicked, I panicked" I hiss, covering the phone with my hand.

"_Okay. How can I help you Doctor Broth?"_

I pause for a second, sure as hell she's messing with me and give Angela a pleading look. I have no idea what the hell I'm supposed to say. She curls her hands over in request for the phone and I gladly hand it to her.

"Sorry about that, Doctor Broth got called away," she lies smoothly. "This is Doctor Weber, I'm her associate."

I smile proudly and listen on as Angela tells her about Edward getting transferred this morning and she's just checking in because they didn't receive confirmation that he made it okay. I'm pretty sure doctors don't do that but from the smile on Angela's face it seems she bought it. When she hangs up she looks at me and rolls her eyes.

"She was a complete dimwit. Thank God I'm not a real doctor because I would have had to report her."

"Why?"

"She has loose lips but that's a good thing, because now we know where your man is!"

**(J-D)**

'Volturi-Cullen Sports Medicine and Physical Rehabilitation Center' is about twenty minutes away from my house so we end up there about an hour later.

"Should we go in?"

Angela looks at me like she would beat the shit out of me if she had the strength to.

"I barely got to eat anything while you showered, changed, did your make up then changed again 'cause you needed me in your room talking to you. Let's go." When we walk inside, she stops short. "Actually, I don't need to be here. I'm going to the Pizza Hut down the street. Text me when you're done."

Ignoring my protest to not leave me alone, she happily skips away singing under her breath about pepperoni. The place isn't that big so after I wander around, peeking in different rooms—I come to halt at the sound of Edward's laughter.

I'm so happy for him that he's in a joyous mood when I've been emotionally lethargic all day.

I follow the trail of laughter as it leads me to a room that looks like a little gym but has different contraptions in it. As opposed to the regular death machines.

When I see him, I smile. He's sitting in a regular chair with his casted legs propped up in front of him, and he's doing a few reps with hand weights. He sets them down after a minute or so and laughs about something else. When I follow his line of vision, I see a pretty girl walking over to him to get the weights. I frown.

After she bends down to pick them up, she sways a little too much for my liking to return them to their rack. Then she wheels a chair back over and with the help of another lady, they help him get in.

"Shit," I whisper. I don't know that I feel right with him knowing I was standing here watching him. So I press my back to the wall to get out of sight. The plan is to follow them to whatever room he's in so we can have a reunion—aka me spazzing about the Houdini trick—alone.

Of course things never go as smoothly as I'd like.

"Is there something I can help you with, miss?"

"Ah!" Channeling my inner Jackie Chan, and feeling like I'm in danger of some sort, I whirl around bringing my hand to connect with the side of someone's face. The someone—a nurse who looks like she'd could be Grandma Swan's age if she was still alive. "Oh my God, oh my God, I am so sorry. Are you okay?"

With a hand protecting the side of her face, she glares at me. "Do I need to call security?"

"No, please don't. I'm here to see my friend—well boyfriend. And—" I narrow my eyes at her "—that was your fault, you know, for sneaking up on me like that." Because it's always good to blame the victim. I discretely shake my head at myself with that one.

"I'm calling security."

"That won't be necessary, Carmen." I smile at Edward's voice and turn around. "Hi, baby!"

I grin and walk over to him. Then I lean down so our mouths are mere centimeters apart. And just when our lips are about to touch, I rear back and punch him in the arm.

"Ow!"

"That's what the hell you get taking off on me like that."

"Hey! I called!"

"From where a submarine!? I couldn't understand a damn thing you said. And Angela and I had to search the internet for you."

"Well what do you know," he smiles, "turns out my girlfriend _is_ in the CIA."

"You're not funny," I mumble,then take a quick step back before he can tickle me again.

"We both know I am." He reaches out to pull on my hand. He bends his neck back so I smile and drop mine to place a quick kiss on his lips. "So—" he smirks "—now that you found me . . . what are you going to do with me?"

* * *

**Thanks for reading!**

**~Lo**

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	10. Chapter 10

**Blah with all the delays! Love you guys hard for your patience, man! This is also updating on TWCS :-)**

**Love and humps to VC-Girl and Ajasperforme!**

**And big shout out to the 'Hall' family! Just because! *Kisses***

* * *

**~10.~**

Crossing my arms over my chest, I glare at Edward as soon as Nurse Sway-My-Hips has finished helping him get settled in his room. "I'm still mad at you," I grumble.

"But, Babe—I called," he repeats.

"And you spoke in tongues."

He barks out a laugh, pulling my arms away from my person, to bring me closer to the edge of the bed. "I'm sorry you couldn't understand what I was saying, but how was I supposed to know that?"

"Well . . . well . . ." I huff 'cause I have no comeback. "Why didn't you call me all day then?"

"From where?" He waves his hands around. I take that moment to really look around his room. It's pretty fancy smancy looking, as far as hospital rooms go. The chair in the corner isn't hard and stale looking like most. And the TV is a flat screen instead of the boxy looking one like at Ethan Asia, that hardly works. It's luxury at it's best.

But as I look around, I notice . . . "No phone?" What kind of barbaric place is this?

He laughs again, probably sensing the contradicting thoughts going through my head.

"My . . . Umm—the owners were going for a spa-like relaxing vibe. Phones are a distraction in their eyes."

I shake a finger at him. "What was that about 'my' something you were about to say?"

"My? My what? I didn't say my." I growl at him, because we both know he did. "Okay, fine. This is my grandfather's clinic or whatever." After he says this, he gets a nervous look on his face and starts looking around the room refusing to meet my eyes.

"Okay? Is that supposed to mean something to me? Something bad?"

He shrugs. "The names Cullen and Volturi tend to mean something to a lot of people. Some good some bad."

"Yeah—well so does the name Swan. I don't get it." When he doesn't answer, I start losing my patience which normally results in me being spastic. "I don't get it," I say frantically, shaking his arm.

"Okay, okay." He pries his arm out of my hands, rubbing at it a little. "Ow, by the way."

"Sorry."

"My grandfather—my mom's dad, Erving Platt Cullen—is like a big shot in the medical field." I nod following along, and remember Angela's comments earlier in the day. I also try not to cringe at the name Erving. Really? It's right up there with Eleazer. "The Volturi's are our cousins," he continues. "They're important or whatever, too." Then he rolls his eyes, and wrinkles up his nose. "And really, it's weird. People get weird, as if my grandpa inventing some stupid medical device makes us, or me, a big deal or something. It's just dumb, really."

"So . . ." I suck in both of my lips to keep them from forming into a grin. "You think I'd care who your family is? Sweetie," I shake my head, poor clueless boy—I can't wait 'til he meets my dad, if that's the case. "I'm not in the medical field. And even if I was . . . I mean, people really care about that stuff?"

Lifting one side of his body, he sighs. "I don't speak doctor, not really. But the minute people here I'm a Cullen . . . they assume I'm super smart and start throwing around," he flails his hands, "words that go way over my meager sports medicine degree brain."

"Don't worry," I huff. "I don't think you're that smart."

"Thanks, babe," he deadpans.

"You know what I mean," I sniff, "And what's this about people hearing you're a Cullen stuff? So you're last name's not Masen?"

"Of course it is." Eyebrow cocked, hand on hip, and foot tapping—I give him a look that says 'you got two seconds to explain yourself, sucker'. "I'm a Cullen on my mom's side. But my dad is Carlisle Masen, that's all."

"So is Rose your sister? Why do you have different last names?"

"Rose," he snorts, "_likes_ Cullen attention. But no she's my full-blooded little sister. Unfortunately," he mutters teasingly. Then something flickers across his face. "Wait, speaking of the devil—didn't she call you?"

"Why would she call me?"

"Uh—'cause I asked her to. I knew I wasn't going to have a phone here, so . . . I told her to call you around the time I knew you'd be getting off of work." When he looks over at the clock then back at me with a raised eyebrow, I start whistling show tunes—refusing to meet his eyes. "What time did you get off today?"

"Huh? Oh . . . right, yeah that. You see . . ."

"Yeah?"

"I may or may not have left work early."

"Why?" I purse my lips, hesitant to answer. "Why?"

"Fine. I might have been a little sad that you disappeared on me."

His face falls, and when he speaks his voice sounds broken. "You really thought I left, didn't you?"

"Technically you did."

"Baby, come here." He opens his arms for me and I comply with ease, crawling into his bed like I normally would. He's quiet for a second, rubbing his hands up and down my arm, before I feel his body shaking.

"What?"

"Nothing," he chuckles out. My lips twitch into a smile as I look at him trying to contain his laughter.

"What?" I giggle. "What are you laughing at?"

"You."

"Hey!"

"No—" he tightens his hold on me, his voice dropping a few octaves "—I mean, it sucks—kinds hurts that you thought I bailed on you for real. But … at the same time, it's … well, being missed that much, in just a day—it's intense. Kinda a big deal. It feels … nice."

I gulp nervously when I see the look in his eyes. I've seen it before. Not geared at me, but it's close—very close—to the way I've seen my father look at my mother and vice versa.

I bring my mouth to his then, not knowing how else to convey how I'm feeling.

We're in our own world, our lips moving slowly against each other—interrupted from time to time with smiles—when my cell phone rings, scaring the living day lights out of both of us.

"Is there a reason why your phone is so damn loud, babe. Really?" he huffs.

I snicker, and apologize. "It's probably Angela," I say, but it's not. "Rosalie?"

_"Hey, Bella. How are you?"_

I smile, smacking Edward's chest when I see he's sporting a smug look. "I'm okay, what's up?"

_"Nothing,"_ she sighs, going into a long drawn out story about her first day back to work. _"Anyway, I'm just getting off, and according to what my brother told me, you should be in a little bit, too. So did you want me to swing by the hospital and pick you up so we can go see him together?"_

"I'm kinda already here."

_"Oh good, even better—can I speak with him really quick?"_

I hand him the phone, ignoring the 'I told you so' cockiness permeating off of him. And after—what I deduce from only hearing Edward's side—their going back and forth about whether she's needed, or if Edward needs anything, he ends the call with an 'I love you, too' and 'see you tomorrow'.

"Well, aren't you two a cute pair of siblings."

He snorts and tells me she's certifiably insane but I know he means it teasingly—I think.


End file.
